I walked wearily down the stairs towards the luggage carousel. It had been a long flight, and I was ready to get back to normal life. As I descended the stairs I saw people growing out of the floor below me, starting with their feet and moving up their bodies to their traveled faces. I exited the stairwell and my mind flashed back 6 days. My scattered thoughts were suddenly hijacked by the memory of nervously looking over my shoulder only to be greeted by your warm smile, and welcoming, Irish eyes flashing above the most beautiful blue, cashmere sweater.
And like the trip itself, the image left my mind as fast as it entered. In that moment I felt the emotional thud of “It’s over.” That is my least favorite part of any trip. It’s worse than enduring a long layover or the burden of living out of a suitcase. It means that I am no longer in the moment I was enjoying so much. It is nothing but a shadowy memory. In that way, it’s kind of like a rice cake. Ok, I guess, but in the end it’s pretty unsatisfying.